


Welcome to Orbmerica

by RonnaWren (Wolf_of_Lilacs)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Covfefe, Crack, I Don't Even Know, The Orb Made Me Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11188254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/RonnaWren
Summary: Trump's fantastic voyage isn't so fantastic after all.





	Welcome to Orbmerica

**Author's Note:**

> I'm late in posting this, but the Orb will never die.
> 
> Work may not have internal consistency. Read at your own risk. And as Trump would say, "Enjoy."

In the center of the room, the Orb—resting innocently upon a stone pedestal—threw their shadows monstrously onto the walls. It seemed to call to him, a wordless whisper drawing him closer...

"Touch it," Jared crooned. "Touch it. There'll be lots of memes and re-Tweets. You know you want those..."

Memes? Re-Tweets? Would people like him? Would there be more positive press coverage? "Okay," Trump announced. "Touching this orb will make America great again." He had no reason to think that, but who needs a reason for greatness?

As his hand made contact, a shock traveled through his fingers and up his arm. Gasping, he tried to pull away, but could not. What the fuck was happening?

He blinked, and the room disappeared, to be replaced by a verdant landscape dotted with trees and squat buildings.

"I need to make this great," Trump enthused. "I can make millions off cutting down these trees. American steel! American wood! American jobs! Oh my!"

"This ain't America, fool! This is the Orb!" A humanoid figure without a face said jovially, popping out of the ground before him.

"What, so this is Orbmerica? Same difference." As Trump spoke, a gigantic sinkhole appeared around  
where the humanoid figure stood, and he disappeared into it, laughing hard enough to choke.

"This is in your head, asshole. Nothing you do matters here!" Trump heard, as the sinkhole closed.

"I can control this place with my mind!" he concluded. "That guy doesn't know what he's talking about. Wow, that sinkhole was yuuuge, like Trump Tower. I alone can fix that!" The tree-laden landscape was suddenly dotted with gigantic buildings, all gold in color, with COVFEFE (what the hell?) written in ten-story letters on their sides.

Meanwhile, outside the Orb, a large sinkhole formed near Mar-a-Lago. They blamed construction crews.

The President's trip abroad continued, but he was unaware of his surroundings. No one could tell the difference.

"The President hasn't been Tweeting," many noted, with palpable relief. If he hadn't embarked upon his Orb-induced voyage, assessments of his trip would have been quite different.

Meanwhile, back in Orbmerica...

Trump strolled leisurely through the multitude of tall buildings—all of them empty and desolate—contemplating the strange world he found himself in. Why weren't any more people around? He didn't like being alone...

"Hello, sir. You look lost." A tall man in a three-cornered hat came up beside Trump, tapping him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

 _Oh, thank God_! "Whoa, are you Andrew Jackson?" Trump asked. _Well_ , he thought, _if I control the world here, then only people I like will appear_.

"No, no. Absolutely not," the tall man said. "I'm Abraham Lincoln. Surely you've heard of me. I suspended habeas corpus and presided over a nation at war with itself."

"You founded the Republican Party," Trump added, recalling an interesting tidbit he'd recently learned.

"No, I didn't!" Lincoln sighed. "I joined it. Aren't you a President? Don't you know the history of your predecessors?"

"Who needs to know history?" Trump replied. "It's like self-reflection: super uncomfortable. Bad."

Lincoln shook his head. "That's a terrible way to think. How the devil did you become President?"

"Hey, man, this is my hallucination thing. You aren't supposed to say things I don't want to hear!" Trump whined.

"Ugh, you're hopeless. Good day to you." Lincoln turned away, dragging his feet despondently as he went.

With Lincoln's departure, Trump returned to staring at the ubiquitous COVFEFE. It was like no word he'd heard before...

Meanwhile, outside the Orb, Trump met with the Pope.

 _Strange_ , the Pope thought. _He's a stupid man. Is he listening to anything I say_?

Meanwhile, back in Orbmerica...

Trump continued on his voyage across the no longer verdant landscape, gazing in perpetual confusion at the beautiful buildings marred by the word he did not know. COVFEFE taunted him on all sides.

The sudden sound of something rolling across the ground made Trump jump. An elderly man in a wheelchair drew up next to him.

"Who are you?" Trump asked. "Crippled Andrew Jackson?"

The man sputtered in surprise. "Good God, no! I'm Franklin Roosevelt, proud class traitor and longest-serving President. Hell, I never lost an election! And you?"

"Donald J. Trump, President of the United States. I lost the popular vote only because a bunch of immigrants voted. I won the electoral college by the biggest margin ever seen. They said I couldn't do it, but I did."

"No," the alleged FDR whispered. "That isn't right in the least. Have you helped... anyone? Do you care about anything besides votes?"

"Me, definitely," Trump said, smiling like a large, contented cat.

"I founded our country's social insurance programs," FDR went on. "Are they still intact?"

"Meh," Trump said. "Who cares. People love me. I can do anything, and I'll still win a second term. Shoot someone, bomb California, gut Social Security... You name it!"

FDR looked sick. "I can understand cheating on your wife-wives, forgive me. I did it. People accept that as normal Presidential behavior. But you—"

"Hey, I don't see how you were President while coasting along in that chair," Trump retorted.

FDR glowered. "You— Incidentally, I pretended—painfully, I should add—to be entirely able-bodied throughout my presidency. Disability rights activists wanted to see me this way, so here I am. Is there a problem?"

"This is my dream thing!" Trump replied. "I don't want to see you."

"Correction: This is the Orb, and it shows you whatever it wishes to."

"No!" Trump began to run away from the now ruefully laughing FDR, stumbling over roots (he'd forgotten trees had those) and crumbling construction.

"Yo Trump!" someone shouted, halting him with a yank to the arm as he ran. "Don't mess with my Antiquities Act! Or insult my cousin!" And TR—for he it was—punched Trump hard enough to send him sprawling.

"Aww, no Andrew Jackson!" Trump lamented. And COVFEFE was back...

Meanwhile, outside the Orb...

The prime minister of Montenegro stuck his hand out for Trump to shake, but was pushed rudely aside as Trump blundered his way through the collection of NATO leaders. The world was understandably shocked. Trump didn't have a clue why, lost as he was. (Montenegro's prime minister moved on from this slight, however. What is a shove in the grand scheme of things?)

Trump came out of his Orb-induced trance on the way home from his—"some accounts—successful foreign trip (though even these people admitted it had succeeded only for its lack of extreme embarrassments).

Waking was uncomfortable, yet a relief. There were no dead Presidents trying to punch him, or telling him what a fool he was, or expressing shock that he was President. Indeed, they were replaced by the reassuring fawning of his staff.

"So, my foreign trip was great, right?" he confirmed, hoping no one had noticed his unconsciousness throughout.

Everyone nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," he said, and smiled indulgently at all of them.

COVFEFE never left. For days, he could ignore it, with everything happening. But then he was Tweeting early one morning about what he intended to be "negative press coverage." To his horror, COVFEFE glared up at him from the screen.

"No, no!" he whimpered, dropping his phone and hiding under his blankets. He took deep, tremulous breaths, his skin clammy with sweat. What should he do?

His Twitter followers had never failed him. They could help! With shaking hands, he deleted the awful Tweet and replaced it with another. "Who can guess the true meaning of covfefe??? Enjoy."

He'd beaten covfefe. Now it had become the world's burden.


End file.
